His Captive
“Get the fuck out,” he repeats in a brutal, rough tone. Then he turns away from me abruptly and begins stalking in the opposite direction.
Wearily, I come to a sitting position in the trunk and reach up to hold my pounding head. The long ride has done a number on me as well as the whack I took when the car stopped suddenly.
I wonder if he did that on purpose. I wonder if he wanted to hurt me, to give me an extra jolt that my plush bottom couldn’t handle. And from the venom in his voice, I’m not putting it past him.
Studying my location, I notice that we’re in the middle of what appears to be the forest. Enormous tall trees surround the car, ominous and looming. There’s the crackle of underbrush, probably some hidden animal, and my heart starts pounding.
Maybe we’ve been driving for hours like I originally suspected. I look around, panicked and afraid.
The dark man is headed for a small clearing. Oh god, he’s the only person I know. He’s my only possible savior, and I have no choice but to follow him. So I clamber out of the car, trying to ignore my aches and pains, and will my feet to start walking.
The forest path isn’t exactly easy, there are rocks and all sorts of sticks and stones in my way, but at least it’s nature. It reminds me of the camp sites my family used to visit when I was younger, just more deserted. Daddy would drive for what seemed like days, before turning our Winnebago down a long, winding path. We’d set up camp and explore the land. Mama would even help Ann-Marie and I make the most delicious s’mores.
But now it’s different. Instead of a homey family vacation, I’m in mortal danger. Dread weights on my shoulders, nausea making my stomach churn. Bile rises in the back of my throat, and I choke it back, swallowing heavily. Ugh, I’m gonna be sick.
But at least the surroundings are beautiful. Soaring trees reach toward the sky, covering the expansive land in every direction, no sign of nearby civilization anywhere in sight. The forest makes it impossible to tell north from south.
However, there is a small, seemingly abandoned cabin in the distance and my kidnapper is storming in that direction furiously.
On weak legs, I follow him, almost falling onto the ground a couple times. My knees feel like jelly as I try to regain my balance. Oh god, oh god, I’m literally following my captor to some unknown hidey-hole where all sorts of terrible things are going to happen. I’ll be ravished. I’ll be put up for sale. I’ll be tied up and chained in the bathroom, a sex slave for my handsome captor.
Oh god, oh god, a tingling starts in my body despite myself, and I scream at it to stop. I shriek mentally, willing this ungodly attraction down. He abducted you, the voice in my head screams. This stranger tied you up and held you hostage, and yet you’re thinking about being his sex slave? What is wrong with you Anna?
But the thing is, he’s my only option for survival, so when I get to the cabin, I let myself in, expecting the worst. I’m expecting to see broken down furniture and garbage on the floor, the sound of mice skittering.
But instead, the interior is warm and cozy as opposed to the deserted hidey hole I predicted earlier. The furniture looks like it’s hand-crafted, comfortable and homey. There are real log beams, plus a cozy fireplace in one corner, loaded with chopped wood. What in the world? This doesn’t look like a prison, it looks like someone’s getaway cabin.
If I were here under different circumstances, maybe I’d be able to enjoy the warm, earthy color scheme and dark wood finishes. I’d delight in the fact that there was no TV but instead a huge floor to ceiling bookcase lined with thick books. Oh, and I’d really go crazy over the cozy blankets and footstools resting near the fireplace.
The place is just my style, but it doesn’t matter. I was snatched from the street, brought here against my will. There has to be some way to get out of here that doesn’t involve walking a hundred miles through the forest at night.
So padding down a short hallway, I keep exploring. There’s a kitchen, small and neat and there, the brooding man’s bent over the fridge as he inspects a container of something clear.
Oh, god. Is he going to drug me?
What is that? Formaldehyde? Rubbing alcohol? Something dangerous?
The small space makes him look even bigger and goosebumps prickle my skin at his angry demeanor.
He’s terrifying.
Absolutely fucking terrifying.
And absolutely gorgeous. Up close, I can see those broad shoulders outlined in a flannel shirt, and he must be at least six four. He’s got a strong jaw and nose that looks like it’s been broken before, with sharp, angular cheekbones and a mobile mouth.